The Elite Kings Boxset Vol. II

by Amo Jones

  “I know, Puella.”

  “Do you need to tell me something?”

  He opens his mouth and then closes it. “Yes, but—”

  I lean forward, running my finger over his bottom lip. “I need to tell you something too, Daemon.” My throat swells before I’ve even so much as flicked my tongue over the first syllable. He doesn’t speak. He merely watches me with fascination. God, he’s so beautiful. Too beautiful for earth, but too haunted for hell. “She passed away.” It’s the first time that the words have been on my tongue, threatening to slice me across the heart.

  Daemon doesn’t flinch. His eyelashes flutter closed and a flash of pain passes his face. “How?”

  I curl my legs out from under my butt, massaging my temples. “Sudden Infant Death.” I stand abruptly, my mind shutting down from the conversation I so openly started.

  I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

  Why did I tell him? I wasn’t ready. I thought I was ready. I start banging around the room in search of something to numb the ache that has started in my chest.

  Daemon’s hand comes to my arm.

  I freeze, turning in his grip slowly.

  His fingers come to my face, his thumb on my lip. I know what he’s trying to say, I see it in the way his eyes peer into mine, like they’re trying to speak a foreign language.

  I smile, laying my face into the palm of his hand. “Go to bed. I will see you in the morning. I have a plan.”

  “A plan?” Daemon asks just as I reach for the door handle.

  I smirk, not bothering to give him another look. “Yes. A plan.”

  I’m making my way down the twin staircase after Daemon heads to bed when Nate appears at the bottom. He’s wearing grey sweats and nothing else. He’s been working out, judging by the sweat that is dripping off his finely chiseled torso.

  I cross my arms in front of my chest.

  He smirks, his eyes eating up my body. “You look good in that…”

  I roll my eyes, taking the final steps down and shoving past him. “Let me guess, you fucked my mom too.”

  A strong palm collides with my arm at the very place that Daemon just touched. Only where his was gentle, this was dominating.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” I snap, spinning to face him. “The no-talking-to-you thing? Get used to it, Nate, because I hate you. You kidnapped me, brought me here, told me that everything was a plan from the beginning, told me you wanted to kill me—all for what?”

  Nate doesn’t say anything, his jaw set taut and his eyes glaring at me like a demon. A beautiful, unhinged, total bad boy demon. What the fuck. I need a drink.

  I turn to go find some alcohol when his voice stops me. “I wasn’t lying, Tillie.”

  “Yeah, well neither was I when I said that I hated you, so leave me the fuck alone.”

  Finding a bottle of Proper Twelve in the cupboard, I take down a tumbler and fill it with the amber liquid, shooting the first one back and inhaling the cloak of numbness that comes with the first swallow. The pain begins to dissipate into the back of my mind, so I pour another and put the bottle back tidily near the—fully stocked pantry.

  I growl softly, piecing things together. They obviously had been planning this for some time to have all this food. There’s shit in here from our world, not from Perdita. Swirling the liquid in my glass, I take a closer look around the kitchen. It’s splashed in white marble and black trimmings, with one glass window that overlooks the backyard. There’s an adjacent dining room on the other side and I quickly step in, noting the twelve-piece dining suite. To the right is floor to ceiling glass that opens out onto the backyard. No pool. Interesting. I push on the door, stepping out into the cold soft wind, closing it behind myself. There may be no pool, but there are beautifully kept flowers that are blossoming against what lighting there is.

  “Can’t sleep?” a deep, familiar voice interrupts my downtime.

  I don’t bother to look toward it. I know that it’s Brantley. “Well, that amongst other things.”

  “What do you think of flowers?” he asks, and that question was random enough to conjure me to look at him. He’s sitting on a small iron set chair near a stone fountain that’s decorated by small hedges and vines of roses.

  I take a couple of steps down, sinking deeper into the dark night. “Hmmm, I’ve never thought much about it. Why?”

  Brantley chuckles and then stands. When he comes opposite me, his presence is intimidating, but I don’t falter.

  “Why did you all bring me here?” I try him.

  “Because this is where you should be.”

  I pause, contemplating whether I should or should not cuss him out for pulling a Bishop on me and lying straight to my face. “Every time you’re vague to me, I’m calling you Bran Bran.”

  His head snaps in the general direction of yours truly. “I think the fuck not!”

  I chuckle, swirling my whiskey around inside my glass. “Your reaction has just solidified the fact that I indeed, will be calling you Bran Bran every time you are vague, or I think you’re lying to me.”

  He kicks my chair, so I look at him. Which I do, over the tumbler glass as I bring it to my smug lips. “Don’t like that name, Princessa.”

  “Then don’t lie to me.”

  He seems to ponder my words until we’ve sat for another fifteen minutes in pure silence. The only sound is coming from the rustling trees, and very faintly, the soft crashing of waves in the near distance.

  He lights a smoke. “Have you spoken much to Daemon?” He tosses the pack onto the table in front of us.

  “No?” I reach for the pack, suddenly itching for something a little extra to take the edge off. “Well, not as much as I would have liked. Not yet. I will. He seems more distant and stranger than usual.”

  Brantley snatches the packet from me, glaring and tossing it back onto the table. “That’s expected. After everything he’s been through. I’m surprised there’s anything left of him at all upstairs….” He bites out the end of his sentence, which again catches my attention.

  “What do you mean?”

  He doesn’t answer, and I catch the way he licks his lower lip with his tongue against the moonlight. Brantley has surprised me most when it comes to The Kings. He’s the one I thought I’d least have a connection with. I thought maybe Eli, the jokester, or Hunter, the up-and-coming dark and moody rock star. Or even Bishop, or Cash, or Ace. Any of them but Brantley. The connection we have is something that I will feel until the day I die. It’s easy without being boring. Like a shadow, I always know he’s there.

  “He’s not the same as he used to be, Tillie. Just be wary of the way you are around him. He’s not the same boy you knew.”

  I figured as much, from what I’ve seen so far but the fact that Brantley has confirmed it only intensifies my feelings.

  “Okay. I will. Thank you. One more question… is Nate going to let me go?”

  Brantley’s eyes go over my shoulder. “Maybe you should ask him.” He starts to stand, moving closer to me and wraps his fingers around my chin, tilting my face up to his. “One day, when this asshole isn’t lurking around you like a hungry lion protecting his prey, I’m going to play some games with you.”

  I bite my lower lip, my cheeks igniting in flames at his words. My thighs clench together as his grip tightens around my chin, his thumb pressing against my lower lip.

  “The kind where there are only two players until it’s Game Over.”

  He leans down and presses his lips to my head. “Night, Princessa…”

  I’m still shocked by what just happened, but when he’s walking away, I quickly compose myself and yell back, “Night Bran Bran!”

  The whiskey isn’t helping much, so I look down at the table and see Brantley’s left his pack of smokes. I snatch up the packet and take one out, inhaling deeply. The thick nicotine sets in my lungs before I exhale. It’s been a long day, and when I step back to evaluate everything that’s goin
g on in my life right now, it still doesn’t make much sense.

  “Bad habit,” Nate interrupts from behind me. I forgot he was there.

  I don’t look back. “So it seems. Just add it to my list of the others.” I bring my eyes to his as he rounds the table. I suck in the smoke and curl my lips in an O to puff out perfect smoke rings. “Bad habits.”

  He pins me with a stare, not answering. He looks good, but then, he always does. No one has said anything about Nate Riverside-Malum’s appearance. Because they can’t. It’s what he hides beneath the pretty smile that people should talk about.

  “When are you taking me back to civilization?” I ask, flicking the ash off my smoke and picking up my glass of whiskey. The liquid is doing what is intended, my head spinning in a Ferris wheel of confusion.

  “Do you want to go back to go back? Or do you want to go back to be away from me?” he asks, and I don’t have to be able to see his face to know that one eyebrow would be cocked and a slight smirk would be on his lips.

  I ignore him, not ready to admit how it feels to be here. Away from reminders of—my life before. Not ready to admit that his danger dances around me, teasing me to come play. Until I get lost in the maze that constructs their world. Their beautiful, fucked up world.

  His shadow moves closer to me and the chair scrapes against the concrete as he takes a seat.

  He’s so close. Close enough I can almost hear his thoughts.

  “Tillie.”

  I ignore him.

  “Look at me.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Silence. He brings his hands to both sides of my chair and pulls me closer to him. I still don’t look. He wraps his fingers around my chin and forces my attention on him. I clench my jaw.

  He’s wearing a dark hoodie and jeans. I can see his eyes peering at me from underneath, and even more so, the gloss of his high cheekbones.

  “I meant after Micaela died. Not before. Everything after was planned.”

  I bring my smoke to my mouth and suck, inhaling. I blow out in his face, because I know how much he hates cigarette smoke. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  He snatches the smoke from between my fingers and squashes it with his bare hand. “It’s supposed to make you fucking realize that I’m not a goddam monster, Tillie. My shit has purpose. Real fucking purpose.”

  “You’re not a monster?” I ask, tilting my head while softening my voice.

  “No, I’m not. I can be, yes, but like I’ve always said, I’ve never shown that fucking side of me to you.”

  “That’s funny…” I mutter, bringing my face close to his. Close enough for the tips of our noses to touch. “Because your demons whispered all your secrets into my ear the day you dragged me through your hell, and let me tell you something, you are a monster, Nate. And a liar.”

  His mouth slams shut.

  I stand, shoving his hands off me. “And your words mean nothing to me, Nate. In the morning, I’m going to find your father, and I’m getting to the bottom of whatever the fuck is going on here.”

  I start walking back toward the house when his words stop me. “You’ll trust him before you’d trust me?”

  My body stills as my feet mount the cement steps and guilt threatens to take hold of all my self-restraint. I can’t let him win. I can’t. He has to pay for his actions, even if it means I risk losing him forever.

  “Yes,” I lie, walking back up the stairs.

  “Then you’re not as smart as we all thought.”

  Tillie

  I woke this morning with a whiskey hangover from Hades. Whole head throbbing, mouth frothing, hunger panging type shit, but after quickly washing in the shower and dressing into Khales’, or Katsia’s clothes, I feel a little more like a human and less like the asshole of one. Who knew they both had similar taste. I settled for Khales’ because fuck her. So I found myself in tight little leather shorts that covered just enough of my ass cheeks and a skate shirt that was torn in odd places. I matched the shorts with black thigh high-boots and a leather jacket, and I was good to go. Not really, because this style was not me by any sense, but it wasn’t like I had many options.

  “Tell me about yourself…” I mutter as Abel and I walk down the main street of Perdita. I couldn’t find Daemon this morning and couldn’t risk bumping into any of The Kings and having them stop me from my plan today, so I snatched Abel on his way out of the shower and we left. I let him put some clothes on, although after seeing him half-naked, I sort of wished I didn’t.

  “Not much to tell.”

  “For some reason,” I start, looking down each alleyway of the main street of Perdita. “I think you’re lying.”

  He chuckles. “I’m a lot of fucked up things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

  “Yeah, sure, that’s what they all say.”

  “I’m not them.”

  His words are simple, yet his tone tells me he’s implying The Kings.

  I stop, turning to face him. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t feel right. I don’t like judgment in any case, but even more so from a boy who doesn’t understand how this world works. “And what do you mean by that?”

  He searches my eyes, and I actually feel myself start to burn up, his beauty is that toxic. Like Medusa, you don’t want to look directly into his eyes. He doesn’t flinch, and it’s scary.

  “I kill for less.”

  I believe him. “I want to know your story one day.”

  He snorts. “I’m not here to give you what you want, Princessa.”

  “Well, you’re like your brother in that sense.”

  “In what sense?”

  “You’re both assholes.”

  He chortles. “I’m nothing like him.”

  I point to the chocolate store. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “We’re here because of chocolate?” Abel asks, stopping in his tracks as I start heading toward the storefront.

  “I’ve heard about their Ruby chocolate. We will make a quick dash, and then go and find daddy Gabe.”

  We’re making our way back to the mansion when Abel asks around a mouth full of chocolate, “Why don’t you trust them?”

  “Because they’re bad people,” I answer instantly, not having to think too much about my answer because it’s truth.

  “Are they bad people, or are they just always given bad choices?” Abel asks, and his annoyingly intelligent brain irks me.

  “You’re too hot to be that smart.”

  The guard lets me in, his head bowed. A small sense of power comes with that, but it’s power that I’m not interested in dabbling in. I didn’t earn it. I don’t want it.

  We enter the main lobby, shutting the heavy wooden doors behind me.

  “Tillie!” I hear Nate yell out from the kitchen.

  I roll my eyes.

  Abel smirks.

  We make our way toward the annoying voice, entering the kitchen, I see all of The Kings seated at the table, including Nate’s dad, Gabriel.

  I take a step forward, but he shakes his head. I see the worry etched into his features. The way his eyebrows furrow over his dark eyes.

  I pause, straightening. “What’s going on?”

  Nate

  I can count on one hand how many times I have been shackled by a woman. Rendered fucking speechless and brought to my damn knees by a simple blink of her eye. Three times. Twice was Tillie, and the other was Micaela.

  Even with her standing there, at my disposal, glaring at me like she hates sharing the same air as me, my dick is rock hard, swollen against the zipper in my pants.

  “Are you talking?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips.

  I smirk. Because it’s fucking cute that she does shit to try to make herself appear stronger than she feels. Not saying she’s not, she’s definitely the most glued together girl we’ve ever had around. She’s level-headed, smart, fucking sassy, and she can hold her own. She doesn’t do drugs, (usually), and doesn’t give a fuck if anyone else is
doing it. She hardly drinks and doesn’t sleep around. How’d I manage to fuck all of that up epically in the span of a few months? Right. Because I’m me.

  “Yeah, babe, take a seat.” The smirk stays, biting down on the toothpick in my mouth.

  She glares with force this time.

  I laugh. “Easy tiger, take a seat so we can talk.”

  She crosses her arms. A step up from them being on her hips. My eyes drop, my smile deepening when they land on her arms, but then they go lower, and I’m smack bang face to face with her sexy as sin legs. My smile instantly drops, and I shuffle in my seat to readjust myself.

  “Are you going to be honest with me?”

  “Yes,” I answer instantly, because I’ll always be honest with her, with the exception of what I think she needs to know.

  She slowly lowers herself onto the chair. “Talk. Why the fuck did you kidnap me and bring me here?”

  “First of all.” I lean forward, blazing my joint. “We didn’t bring you here. You walked your little ass right up to this house all on your own. Second of all.” I blow out a thick cloud of smoke, her beautiful fucking face still glaring at me through the smoke. “I wasn’t lying when I told you that it was planned to get you here.”

  She waves the smoke away. “And why is that?”

  Bishop’s phone goes off and he quickly leaves the room, answering it as he slides the glass door closed. I falter a little, wanting to ask him what the fuck is going on with his phone and who he has been talking with for the past day. Task at hand.

  “Because we needed to take you away from civilization for a while.”

  “Why? What’s happening? And you couldn’t just tell me? You had to be dramatic and lock me in a fucking cell!”

  She’s angry now. Good. She’s always cute, but when she’s angry, there’s something inside of me that recognizes her fire and wants to build an inferno with her. The only problem is that those closest to us get burned. She holds all of the cards when it comes to me. But my poker face is too good, so she just doesn’t know it yet. Connection is rare, I fucking know this. As much as there’s still so much that she doesn’t know yet, I have every intention to keep her safe. How I go about that, though, is completely up to me. Those are the cards that I’m dealing and that’s the hand I’ll be playing.